


The Consolation Prize

by MechanicalMarshal



Category: Helltaker (Video Game), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Hell, Mentions of Suicide, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, POV Third Person Limited, Past Character Death, Rated For Violence, Religious Themes, Tagged "Major Character Death" as a Precaution, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicalMarshal/pseuds/MechanicalMarshal
Summary: Met with his untimely death, Glenn Sawyer is faced with the true nature of the afterlife. He didn't sin enough in life to earn eternal punishment in Hell, but as a nonbeliever he could never be allowed into Heaven. With Hell as the only place that will take such heathens, what becomes of those who do not truly deserve damnation?Taking up most of Limbo is Asphodel, the City of Heathens. While hardly a kind or comfortable place, it is still better than the torturous lower regions of Hell. Here, the "virtuous heathens" barred from Heaven spend the rest of their existence. Many try to make the most of it, but what is there to look forward to in an afterlife of eternal stagnation?Worse still, the rise of Quirks has made it harder for demons to keep sinners in line. While it was once a rare occurrence, now it seems that every day some sinner escapes their punishment in the lower circles and flees to Asphodel. The demons operating the Asphodel Military Police can only do so much to capture these fugitives, but life in Asphodel mirrors that in the surface world. With escaped sinners causing havoc in Asphodel's dim corners, it was only a matter of time before the residents began to take up arms as vigilantes...
Relationships: Justice (Helltaker) & Original Character(s), Justice (Helltaker) & Shimura Nana, Kakyoin Noriaki & Original Character(s), Mohammed Abdul | Muhammad Avdol & Kakyoin Noriaki, Pandemonica (Helltaker) & Malina (Helltaker) & Zdrada (Helltaker), Pandemonica (Helltaker) & Original Character(s), Shimura Nana & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	The Consolation Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The contents of this work are heavily inspired by various aspects of Judeo-Christian beliefs. All depictions of and references to religious subjects are purely fictional, and are made for the purpose of entertainment. The content of this story does not reflect any religious beliefs of the author, and is not meant to be actual commentary on religion or the nature of the afterlife. I felt this warning could not be properly conveyed through tags, so I am putting it here at the beginning of the first chapter. If this story's subject matter makes you uncomfortable, I urge you to reconsider reading it.

The sound of water lapping against wood was the first sensation that came to him. The feeling of a rough, chilly material against his face was the next, and slowly all of his senses returned. The frigid air prickled at his skin, and his face twisted in disgust at the stench of rot all around him. He groaned, shaking the residual haze of sleep from his mind as he forced himself upright and opened his eyes.

He found himself in a long, narrow boat. He rose to his knees and peered over the gunwale, only to recoil in disgust. Along the riverbank were heaps and mounds of what appeared to be corpses. However, a few low groans caught his ears, and he noticed that many of the "corpses" were crawling or shuffling around on the marshy soil. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars that he was too far away to make out any real detail.

"Ah, you've woken."

His head jerked around, his stiff neck aching in protest as he faced the source of the voice. The speaker stood at the ship's stern, lazily paddling through the water with a large oar. The boatman's sleeveless longcoat left the pallid flesh of his arms bare, but he was otherwise covered from head to toe. A shadowed hood concealed his face. Reflexively, the young man scrambled backwards, bumping into a bench at the bow of the boat.

"Calm yourself young 'un. I don't bite," the boatman continued. "And don't mind the Uncommitted along the shore. You won't have to suffer their stink much longer. We're nearly to the dock, so just sit tight."

The young man raised an eyebrow, staring into the darkness of the boatman's hood as he tried to slow his breathing. With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet, knees shaking all the while. He pursed his lips, noting that even at his full height, the boatman was at least a head taller than him. Working his jaw, he considered carefully what to say.

Eventually, he asked, "...what is this?"

The boatman grunted. "Odd choice of words there, my friend."

The young man just stared, and the boatman let out a gravelly laugh.

"No need to try and act cool, young 'un," he said. "I can tell you're frightened. Nothing wrong with that, of course."

They stared at one another for a long, silent moment. Finally, the young man let out a sigh, sitting down hard on the bench at the gondola's bow.

"And tired too, it seems," the boatman continued, reaching into his hood to scratch at his chin. "Young 'uns like you ought not be so tired. That comes with age. You can't be more than... hmm, 17?"

"I'm 23," the young man said, resting his chin on his palm.

"Bah, I'm losing my touch," the boatman said, waving a hand. "Used to be I could guess a fella's age down to the minute, and that's without even peeking at their soul."

"That your Quirk or something?" the young man asked, trying to divert the conversation in a direction he understood.

The boatman waved a hand again. "Nah, nothing like that. Honestly, I'm still not used to all this newfangled stuff. Used to be the worst we got was the occasional monk with that silly sunlight stuff, but nowadays every Tom, Dick, and Harry has some special power. Damn sure doesn't help that no two of 'em are exactly alike, either..."

The young man quietly let the boatman ramble for a bit. Despite his intimidating appearance, the boatman didn't _seem_ dangerous. Or at least, not hostile. The young man didn't dare relax, but the situation certainly felt a bit less urgent. Eventually, he cut the boatman off.

"Still didn't answer my question, y'know," he said.

"Hmm? Which one?"

"Neither, but I care more about the former."

"Ah, yeah, I can clear things up," the boatman said, his hood bobbing a bit as he nodded. "Brace yourself though, young 'un. You ain't gonna like this."

He held back a quip about how much he already didn't like this whole situation, and opted instead for a hand gesture towards the boatman, signaling for him to go on.

"Yeah, alright. So," the boatman began. "We're on the river Acheron, headed for the entrance to Limbo. Once we get there I'll drop you off, and the next chapter of your existence can begin proper."

River Acheron? Limbo? The young man blinked, furrowing his brow. Those sounded... familiar, vaguely, but he couldn't place where he'd heard them. He opened his mouth to speak, but the boatman put up a hand.

"You're dead, young 'un."

The young man choked, and suddenly it all flooded back. The memories of his final moments returned to him in a crushing wave. He suddenly couldn't catch his breath, and phantom pains bloomed in his chest. Images flashed through his head faster than he could process...

...a building collapsing around him...

...his lungs burning as they filled with smoke...

...chunks of concrete pinning him to the floor, as a length of rebar speared into his—

"—Come on now, breathe. You need to _breathe,_ young 'un. It's over, you ain't there anymore."

The boatman's hand was on his shoulder, jostling him lightly to shake him from his stupor. The young man's eyes fluttered. He took a quivering breath, and stared into that darkened hood. There was a flash, and he thought he caught a glimpse of two orbs of fire where the boatman's eyes ought to be. Yet, as quick as they came they were gone.

"Blood and bones, what a rough way to go," the boatman said, sighing as he pulled away. "Not the worst I've seen, mind, but that doesn't mean it ain't bad. And far too young to boot. You've got my sympathies, young 'un."

The young man remained silent. His breath still shook, despite his best efforts to steady himself. He pressed a hand to his forehead and stared down at the floorboards.

The boatman sighed. "Maybe some introductions will calm you down, eh? I'm Charon, the Ferryman, though I reckon you've pieced that together by now."

He inclined his hooded head, gesturing to the young man with a free hand.

"Now you, young 'un. What's your name?"

For a long while, the young man's eyes stayed firmly glued to the floorboards. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

"...Glenn," he eventually said. "I'm... Glenn."

* * *

The ride on Charon's ferry hadn't lasted much longer after that. They'd soon arrived at a short dock, with a plain gray building looming in the background. The words "Sinner Processing Station" were emblazoned on a backlit sign above the double doors. Glenn had bid Charon farewell, and had gotten a last bit of advice from the ferryman before they'd parted.

"Try to keep your composure in there, young 'un," Charon had said as he paddled away. "I've got a hunch you won't have it near as bad as most, but even the best parts of Hell are still... well, Hell. Don't let this place turn you rotten, you hear?"

Glenn had only managed a half-hearted "I'll do my best," but Charon had seemed to accept it. Once the ferryman had drifted down the Acheron out of sight, Glenn turned and entered the building ahead.

That, of course, had been hours ago. Now, Glenn found himself lounging in a rickety old chair with torn cushions, staring at the ceiling as the white noise of hundreds of conversations droned around him. The interior of the "Sinner Processing Station" had turned out to be an enormous waiting room, with hundreds of numbered doors and various waiting areas based on family name. The souls of what had to be thousands of dead sinners packed the massive room, and Glenn saw folks of all manner of ethnic backgrounds among the crowd. At first, he'd considered striking up a conversation with someone, if only to pass the time. Hearing a group nearby bragging to one another about the murders they'd committed had quickly soured him on the idea though. How charming.

So instead, he made his way to the waiting area for "S" surnames, parked himself in a chair, and waited. Minutes stretched into hours, and with no clocks in sight Glenn had no clue exactly how much time passed. The steadily growing pit in his stomach certainly didn't help things. With nothing else to occupy himself, his anxious mind had dreamed up all sorts of torturous punishments he might end up facing during his eternal damnation. It certainly wasn't helping him come to terms with the fact that he was in _Hell,_ which was apparently a _real place_ that people went to when they died. For now, the best he could do was ignore the complete destruction of his worldview, as he waited for his turn to...

...Well, he didn't actually know what they were all waiting for, to be honest. Every now and then a name would be called over some kind of intercom. Shortly after, a pair of massive, muscular humanoids with pitch-dark flesh and exposed bones would appear to escort the sinner in question to one of the numbered rooms. Low ranking demons, perhaps? Or maybe not demons at all, but rather some sort of generic servant creatures. Glenn had spent at least an hour mulling that one over, glad to have something other than his impending punishment to think about.

Maybe this was it? Maybe this waiting room was damnation itself. It was ingenious, really. What could be more torturous than eternity in a never ending waiting room? And then, after thousands of years your name finally gets called, and you walk through the door only to find... another waiting room. Just a series of waiting rooms upon waiting rooms, until the end of time. Glenn had to put a hand over his mouth to suppress his giggling as he thought of that one. The boredom must really be getting to him, because the more he thought about it the more he began to believe that it might actually be—

"Would Glenn Sawyer report to room number 649 please? Would Glenn Sawyer report to room 649?"

His breath caught in his throat, and his whole body tensed. This was it. He was going to walk through that door, and more than likely be slapped with his sentence. Whatever he was stuck with now would be his fate for all eternity. He tried to breathe slowly, but his nerves got the better of him as anxiety reared its ugly head.

A pair of the skeletal minions stepped forward, as if emerging from nowhere. They crossed their arms, glaring at him with their glowing eye sockets. Glenn had seen them manhandle some of the more unruly spirits previously. They wouldn't give him much more than a few moments. He gulped, then breathed out sharply, and stood up.

"Sure, let's go," he said, gesturing forward as he looked at the pair of skeletons with a raised eyebrow. Even over the white noise of people speaking around him, he heard someone bark out a laugh and say something about "trying to look cool." Glenn's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, and he bit back a curse as the skeletons led him to a door. One of the pair pushed the door open, and gestured for Glenn to enter.

He stepped through, and the skeletons followed behind him. Inside, he found himself in a cramped office space. A short desk sat in the middle of the room, with papers and folders stacked in perfect order. A coffee mug sat on a coaster at one of the desk's corners.

On the side of the desk opposite of Glenn sat... a demon? The woman's fluffy white hair reminded him more of a sheep than anything else, and her short black horns only supported the comparison. She wore glasses, and behind them her red eyes scrutinized something written on her clipboard. As the office door shut, she slowly looked up at the noise, and Glenn saw the faint traces of dark circles beneath her eyes. Demon or no, he couldn't help but feel some sympathy for just how exhausted she looked.

"Mm... Glenn Sawyer, was it?" she asked, blinking as though she was having trouble focusing on him. Glenn nodded in response, and she sighed, adjusting her glasses.

"I see. Then, welcome to the Sinner Processing Station. I'm Pandemonica, and I'll be going through your file with you to discuss the details of your damnation here in Hell. Please, have a seat."

Slowly, Glenn pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down. He hadn't expected Hell to be so... corporate. Still, he sure wasn't complaining. He'd been in plenty of office meetings with bosses and university counselors and whatnot. It was nice to have a familiar frame of reference to go off of, if nothing else.

"Before we begin, I will make the purpose of this appointment clear," Pandemonica said. "Make no mistake, your fate here in Hell has already been decided. The ancient laws are very clear, after all. There are occasional outliers and borderline cases that require closer examination, but those are deliberated on ahead of time by the CEO and the Board of Managers. You are not here to bargain or make pleas, Mr. Sawyer. You are simply here so that the reasons for, and terms of your sentence can be explained in a way that you understand."

She reached for a filing cabinet to her right, opening the top drawer and thumbing through a series of manila folders, before pulling out one labeled "Sawyer, Glenn T."

"Do you have any questions?" she asked. "Or may we proceed?"

Glenn put a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. Then, he pointed at the folder in Pandemonica's hands.

"You're using paper files?" he asked. Pandemonica raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yes," she said, placing it on the desk. "What of it?"

"I mean, it's 2012," he said with a shrug. "I figured even Hell would've switched to digital by now."

Pandemonica groaned, adjusting her glasses as her shoulders sagged. "Yes, well, we've been trying. By my understanding, the CEO has wanted to switch to digital infrastructure for some time now, but hasn't been able to convince the Board to fund such a large-scale overhaul. There are computers in Hell, of course, but they're quite rare and often have to be brought in from the surface, which itself is quite the hassle. Not to mention there's no way to access the surface world's internet from here. There is a 'Hellnet' of sorts, but with how rare computers are it's quite sparse."

Glenn had almost missed it the first time, but this time around he definitely caught the mentions of a "CEO" and a "Board" of some sort. More corporate analogies, it seemed.

"Makes sense to me," he said, crossing his arms. "That's all I was wondering."

Pandemonica nodded, taking her cue to begin and opening Glenn's file. "Let's start with the basic information. Glenn Thomas Sawyer, born in Manhattan on November 30th, 1988. Son of Barnaby Sawyer and Mary Lampton Sawyer. Age 23 at time of death on June 6th, 2012. Registered Quirk: Quirkless. Is this all correct?"

Glenn grinned ever so faintly at that last bit, but nodded. "Yep. All good."

He didn't miss Pandemonica narrowing her gaze slightly, but she suddenly raised a hand to her mouth and yawned. Her eyes fluttered, and she reached for her coffee mug only groan upon peering inside. "Empty," she muttered.

Glenn saw a chance, and he took it. "You need to get some more coffee? I'm not in any rush or anything, so I don't mind waiting."

She drummed her fingers on the side of her mug a bit, and for a moment Glenn thought she'd take the bait, but she just sighed and set it back down on the coaster.

"A good effort," she said, adjusting her glasses again, " but I know an attempt to delay the inevitable when I see it. You can't put off your sentence, Mr. Sawyer."

Glenn grit his teeth, looking away with a grimace as Pandemonica continued.

"Now, onto the relevant information. Quite a few small lies here and there, but certainly not anything worth a sentence in Malebolge. There was a period where you came close to being sentenced in the second ring of Violence, but you seem to have gotten out of that state of mind. Good for you."

She rattled off a few more details about certain minor sins he'd committed. A few things came up with regards to Wrath and Violence, but the handful of fights he'd gotten into over the years hadn't resulted in any death or disfigurement, so he was clear on those fronts. He was quickly cleared on Greed, Fraud, and Treachery with little hassle. They lingered on Gluttony for a while—Glenn was mortified when his unfortunate stress-eating habit came up—but ultimately he was cleared on that as well. Lust wasn't even mentioned, and he wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not.

"But... wait," Glenn said, putting up a hand. "We've been through a lot of sins so far, haven't we? What's even left?"

He started counting on his fingers. Wrath, Violence, Greed, Fraud, Treachery, Gluttony, and the apparently not-worth-mentioning Lust. That made 7, and since Limbo didn't have a sin associated with it, that meant the only one left was—

"Heresy," Pandemonica said dryly, echoing Glenn's thoughts. "Honestly, I'm surprised that you managed to completely overlook this. It's easily the most obvious of your sins."

Glenn paled, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

"The Father does not allow atheists into His domain, Mr. Sawyer," Pandemonica said.

He visibly deflated, shoulders sagging as if the demon's words had physical weight. In life, he'd never put much thought into religion. His mother hadn't been particularly religious, so he'd never been pressured by anyone to look into religion with any serious effort. He'd just accepted the label of "atheist" and been done with it. And now here he was, in the very real Hell, about to face his very real eternal punishment for not being a believer.

"Of course," Pandemonica continued, not missing a beat as she thumbed through the pages of his file, "simply being faithless is hardly enough to constitute true heresy."

Glenn blinked. He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words to say. The best he managed was a confused grunt.

"Indeed, Mr. Sawyer," the demon continued, glancing up to catch a glimpse of Glenn's expression. Glenn was almost positive he saw the corner of her mouth twitch into a smirk, but he blinked again and it was gone.

"Ah... bwuh?"

"You truly are an elegant speaker," Pandemonica said, rolling her eyes. "Allow me to define Heresy for you. With regards to sin, to be a heretic is to claim and spread false teachings and beliefs about Judeo-Christian faith. Heresy is not the lack of faith, nor is it even belief in a different religion. Heresy is twisting faith into something it is not, whether knowingly or otherwise. Simply put, being an atheist does not make you a heretic. You are more accurately described as a heathen."

"...Then," Glenn finally says, regaining his composure, "if I'm not guilty of Heresy either, why am I here?"

The demon hummed, looking back down at Glenn's file. "What I told you before was the truth. Heathens are not permitted to spend their afterlife in Heaven, even those heathens who led good and virtuous lives. The only other place for these 'virtuous heathens' to go then, is Hell."

She leaned forward, staring into Glenn's eyes with an odd intensity. "What I am saying, Mr. Sawyer, is that the only thing that prevented you from going to Heaven was the fact that you did not accept The Father as your Lord, and The Son as your Savior. Do you understand?"

He felt his lip curl into a grimace, but he nodded. Glenn knew he should be relieved, yet somehow he felt as though it would've been better if he'd actually done something wrong. For him to be in Hell just because he didn't believe the right thing... it just felt cheap.

Pandemonica seemed to notice his discomfort. She leaned back, no longer glaring at him so intently. "You feel as though this is not fair. You're right, of course. The Father himself has admitted to being the jealous sort. Understand that demonkind sympathizes with the plight of the virtuous heathens, but we must follow the ancient laws."

She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a laminated card of some sort. "However, without excessive sin weighing down your soul, you certainly do not deserve to be directly punished during your stay in Hell. You, and the many heathens like you, have a far more merciful fate in store."

She placed the card on the desk with a faint _clack_ and slid it towards Glenn. Hesitantly, he took it, narrowing his eyes as his own picture stared back at him.

"What... is this?" he asked for the second time that day.

"Think of it as your consolation prize," Pandemonica said, closing his file and returning it to the filing cabinet. "You've been denied Heaven, yes, but this is the next best thing."

One of the skeletal minions stepped around the desk, opening the door behind Pandemonica and gesturing for Glenn to come through.

"We do hope you enjoy your new existence," the demon said, "as a resident of the City of Asphodel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that so far this just looks like original fiction with a couple references and a single canon character thrown in, but once the ball gets rolling this'll become a proper fic with canon characters abound. Helltaker doesn't give much to work with, with regards to how Hell is actually structured in its universe, so I've had to basically rip from the Divine Comedy and make stuff up to fill the gaps. The idea for a fic taking place in a "city of the dead" in Hell actually spawned from my aimless musings about what Helltaker's Hell might actually be like, so here we are. If you read this far, thank you so much for giving this story a chance. I hope you'll tune in for the next chapter.


End file.
